


Play It Again

by CaremKefo



Series: First Come, First Served [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Grief/Mourning, Guitars, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor Character Death, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21645856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaremKefo/pseuds/CaremKefo
Summary: Dean uses music as a way to deal with his feelings after Bobby's death.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: First Come, First Served [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/133971
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Play It Again

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this years ago, probably not long after I uploaded the previous instalment in this 'verse, and I've _finally_ gotten around to finishing it!

Dean looked around the house he'd grown up in, looking more and more unfamiliar with each passing day as Bobby's belongings were carefully boxed up and disposed of.

The hundreds of books that used to clutter the shelves had been donated to the local library. Sam and Dean had no need for the furniture so it had been loaded onto a truck yesterday, taken to a group who would split it up and give it to families who couldn't afford to buy their own. It was like something out of a dream, for the rooms felt both larger and smaller in the absence of furniture. The ripped and faded wallpaper that had once felt homely now gave the building a derelict appearance, and Dean didn't like it. For years it had been _home_ ; now it was just an empty building.

He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

"How are you?" Castiel asked, feeling his way into the room.

"'M fine. The dust's just getting to me."

"Liar," Cas said softly. "I know you and Sam have cleaned. I can smell it."

Dean let out a shaky breath. "I know I've still got dad, but Bobby was my _father_. He was the one who put food on the table, and picked me up from the police station when I got too drunk as a kid, and who showed me how to tie my tie for prom."

"It _will_ get easier," Castiel promised. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but it takes time."

"I still find myself picking up the phone to call him, and it's ringing in my ear before I remember."

He could hear the tapping of the cane as Cas made his way closer, and then it hit his foot. A moment later his sleeve was being tugged, before Cas took his hand. Dean squeezed it hard.

"Sam is bringing the last of the things down from the attic. He says it's mostly junk and he'll drop it off at the dump on the way home, but he sent me to ask if you wanted your old guitar."

"Oh. I, uh, I dunno."

"I didn't know you played."

"I don't. Not really."

"What do I tell him?"

"I haven't touched the thing in years."

"I'll tell him we'll keep it."

He let go of Dean's hand and moved away.

"I don't— I don't play. For people," Dean heard himself saying.

"I don't expect you to play for me if you don't want to," Castiel told him. "But perhaps it might help you to play for yourself. Music can be very therapeutic."

* * *

Later that night, when he'd finished washing up after dinner and Cas was sitting in the garden, Dean found himself picking up the guitar. He strummed the strings a few times, playing a few chords and adjusting a couple of tuning pegs until he was satisfied. He continued to strum absently, until he found himself playing a recognisable tune.

"All our times have come  
Here, but now they're gone  
Seasons don't fear the reaper  
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain  
We can be like they are...  
Come on baby..."

His throat tightened up until it became harder to get the words out but he pushed himself on.

"Don't fear the reaper  
Baby take my hand  
Don't fear the reaper  
We'll be able to fly  
Don't fear the reaper  
Baby I'm your man  
La, la la, la la..."

His singing trailed off into choked sobs.

"You're very good."

Dean sniffed and put the guitar down.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help but hear - the window's open."

Cas made his way over to Dean, careful to avoid the guitar, and sat down beside him. He put an arm around him, and it was like a dam broke inside Dean. He curled into Cas, burying his hands and face into his shirt, and cried.

"I wish there was something I could do to make you stop hurting," he whispered into Dean's hair. "But I promise that, whatever you need, I'm here."

Dean's arms wound their way around his back and he clutched Cas tight to him. "Just need you," he mumbled.

"I'm here," Cas assured him, wishing - not for the first time - that he could see. He knew that Dean wouldn't ask for what he wanted, or needed, while he was grieving. And while he'd always wondered what Dean looked like, despite knowing it wouldn't change the way he felt about him, he wanted now to be able to see what he could do to help his husband.

Instead, he held him. Strong arms holding him close, large hands stroking soothing circles across his back. And all the while he felt absolutely useless, which - despite his blindness - was not something he was accustomed to.

* * *

Day turned into weeks, and Dean was uncharacteristically quiet. On more than one occasion Cas had entered a room and sat down, not realising Dean was in it with him until he spoke or moved. Once he sneezed so suddenly that Cas nearly fell off the couch in surprise, which Cas couldn't be mad at him for because Dean had laughed for the first time since Bobby had died.

Eventually Dean grew less withdrawn; would seek Cas out for a hug, a kiss, or even just a touch. He became more conversational again, and while it was clear that Dean was still hurting Cas was glad that it was getting a little easier to live without Bobby.

Dean took comfort in his guitar. Cas would hear him strumming quietly from the other side of the house, but the music always stopped when he came closer. He tried not to take it personally - Dean had said he didn't play for people, after all - but Dean was _so good_ that Cas just wanted to sit and listen to him for hours. Instead, he settled for straining his ears to hear Dean play.

* * *

After a couple of months had passed, Dean approached his husband in the kitchen. "Cas? You got a minute?"

Cas abandoned the dishes and dried his hands. "For you, I have entire hours."

Dean huffed. "Always the romantic..."

"What do you need?"

"Can you, uh, come to the living room?" It had taken some getting used to at first, being specific - instead of just vague requests, like 'come here', Cas needed to be told where 'here' was - but it had become second-nature. He prompted Cas to sit down on the sofa before moving away.

"Dean?"

"I know I've not been the best husband lately," he began.

"You've been _grieving_ \- I'm not going to complain about that."

"I know. 'S just one of the reasons I love you. But, ah, music has helped. Given me something to focus on."

"I've heard you."

"I know," Dean told him. "You were right - it's therapeutic. But I meant what I said, about not playing for people."

"You're very good," Cas smiled reassuringly. "I've liked what I've heard."

Dean blushed. "Thanks. Anyway, I, uh..." He tuned the guitar as he spoke. "I wanted to play something. For you. I'm not always good at talking about my feelings and crap, so... Here goes."

When Cas heard him pick up the guitar, he practically vibrated with excitement and joy. _He was going to get to hear Dean play! Finally!_

"It's hard for me to say the things  
I want to say sometimes..."

Cas smiled, wondering if there was a more accurate song lyric to sum up Dean.

"...Thank you for loving me  
For being my eyes  
When I couldn't see  
For parting my lips  
When I couldn't breathe  
Thank you for loving me..."

Dean was wonderful at playing the guitar, but he was also a pretty good singer. The grin on Castiel's face grew wider as he listened, and he hoped that his enthusiasm for Dean's talent would give his husband a much-needed confidence boost.

"...I never knew I had a dream  
Until that dream was you  
When I look into your eyes  
The sky's a different blue..."

There was clearly a reason that Dean had chosen this song, and as he listened to the lyrics he could tell what that reason was. They spoke to him; _about_ him. They'd have spoken to Dean, too.

"...You pick me up when I fall down..."

Never mind picking him up, Cas would _carry_ him if he needed to.

"...When I couldn't fly  
Oh, you gave me wings..."

There were tears in Castiel's eyes at the depth of feeling Dean was putting behind the words.

"...Thank you for loving me."

Dean fell silent, but the music seemed to hang in the air for a moment after he'd stopped. Cas wiped his eyes.

"Is that Bon Jovi?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you didn't like him? That's what Sam said, anyway. He wouldn't let me play him at our wedding."

"Bon Jovi rocks," Dean told him, before clarifying, "on occasion."

Cas nodded to himself. He'd have to bear that in mind.

"Are you okay? I mean, I wasn't _that_ bad, right?" Dean was trying to play it off as a joke, but he was both concerned about Cas and worried about his performance.

"I'm fine," he assured him. "Dean, that was beautiful."

"I don't know about _beauti_ —"

"I could listen to you all day, every day, and never tire of you. I'm so lucky that you were willing to play for me, when you don't like to let other people hear you."

Dean put the guitar down and moved over to sit beside Cas, who immediately moved to straddle him.

"I know I've been letting you down in, ah, _other_ ways, too," Dean began.

Cas shushed him, cupping his face and and brushing his fingertips through the hair behind his ears. "You haven't let me down in _any_ way. We all grieve in different ways."

Dean bounced him on his lap a couple of times, his voice taking on a dirty tone as he asked, "You wanna?"

Cas snorted unattractively and rubbed against him. "Always."

"Nymphomaniac," Dean joked, unbuttoning Cas's shirt so he could run his hands up his chest.

"I'm just in love," Cas told him.

"In _heat_ , more like. Hey!" he protested with a laugh as Cas gave his shoulder a playful punch and slid off his lap. "Where are you going?"

"I want to blow you," Cas stated, a hand on each of Dean's knees.

"Oh," Dean said, allowing Cas to spread his legs. He adjusted his feet, then licked his lips as he watched Cas kneel between them. "It's, uh, been a while."

"Mmm," Cas agreed, as his deft fingers unbuckled Dean's belt - a couple of tugs sliding it free of the loops - then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. He lowered his head and mouthed the warm bulge of his husband's rapidly growing arousal through his underwear, and Dean choked out his name. "Yes?" Cas asked innocently, turning his face towards him.

"Don't fucking tease me, not today." Cas loved sucking him, enjoying taking his time as he practically worshipped Dean's cock, but today he needed it quick - it had been too long since they'd done this, because Dean hadn't felt like sex while he'd been grieving. "Need it. Need you," he said, hoping that Cas understood.

And despite his blindness - or maybe _because_ of it, because didn't they say that if you lost one sense the others became heightened? - Cas always seemed to be able to read him like a book. With a firm yet careful hand, he pulled Dean out of his underwear and licked a line up his cock once, twice, three times, before swallowing him down.

Cas fumbled inside his underwear for a moment, before letting Dean fall from his mouth with a frown.

"What—?"

Grabbing Dean's legs, he tugged him forward until his ass was on the edge of the sofa, then tucked his fingers into the waistbands of his jeans and underwear and wrestled them down together until they were pooled around his ankles.

" _Much_ better," Cas sighed happily, before taking Dean's hard length in his mouth once again.

Now it was easier for Cas to play with his husband's balls while he licked and sucked, his own cock hard and aching in his pants. He'd missed this - missed the taste of him; missed the warm heavy weight on his tongue.

Dean was right - it _had_ been a while - and it wasn't long before Dean's shooting down his throat and whimpering at the oversensitivity when Cas moaned around his dick.

"You want a hand?" Dean smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Cas said, red-faced and rubbing his jaw. He'd gotten unused to the stretch, so there was an uncomfortable ache in his jaw.

"Come on, I don't want to leave you hanging once you've gotten me off."

"Really, I'm fine."

Uncertainty laced Dean's voice as he asked, "Are you... I mean, didn't you..."

"I came just from sucking you," Cas assured him, quick to alleviate Dean's concerns that he hadn't enjoyed himself.

"That is so hot," Dean told him, sliding a hand into his pants and feeling the damp, sticky stain that marked Cas's underwear.

"I missed you," Cas explained, climbing back onto his lap and curling into Dean's body.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologised, wrapping his arms around him.

"You don't have to apologise," Cas told him. "You have nothing to apologise for."

"I've neglected my husband."

"Because you were _sad_."

"Yeah," Dean agreed quietly.

"It's okay to be sad. And I'm glad that music is helping you."

Cas could hear Dean swallow before he spoke. "You, uh, really think I'm good?"

He smiled against Dean't skin. "I'd really like it if you would play for me again, some time."

"I'll give you a repeat performance, if _you_ give _me_ a repeat performance," Dean told him, bouncing Cas a little on his lap to emphasise his point.

"Well, I'm definitely in need of the practice," Cas smiled, kissing him.

Dean chuckled. "Baby, I'll let you practice as much as you think you need."


End file.
